


To a Green Thought in a Green Shade

by bleustocking



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ancient Rome, Battle Couple, Blood and Gore, Fucking in the Blood of Their Enemies, M/M, Size Difference, Vampires, Villains, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleustocking/pseuds/bleustocking
Summary: Kreios, a vampire, longs to die. He learns of a creature that can possibly end his long life and pursues every end to get what he wants.
Relationships: Male Vampire/Male Werewolf, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62
Collections: Writing Rainbow Green





	To a Green Thought in a Green Shade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



The trail left by General Lycurgus’ company was wide and littered by many bodies, not all dead. Kreios, who was on foot, walked through the swathe of destruction without much thought of what or who lay crushed beneath his feet. His only thought was to catch up with Lycurgus again, and to do so before the break of day. 

But suddenly, a hand closed over Kreios’ leg, nearly pulling him down into the blood and mud. “Gods, please help me,” croaked a dying man, bloodstained and wild-eyed. “We were attacked by a beast in a man’s shape -- an abomination.” 

“Yes, yes,” Kreios agreed, shaking off the future corpse’s hand from his dust-streaked sandal. “But there’s nothing I can do for you. But you could help me -- where have all your horses gone?” 

The dying man looked at him with disgust and disbelief. Kreios laughed and walked on. In the poor pre-dawn light, he knew he cut a slight figure on the road -- perhaps soon he would be set upon by brigades or deserters -- there were many eager to pick off the weak in the wake of such destruction. 

But any who attacked him would be in for a harsh discovery, for though Kreios still had the smooth, unbearded face of a youth and all the beauty that came with it, he was no youth and he was no innocent. Indeed, he was far older than most who would ever behold him. He only had vague memories of how he had come into being -- of a sudden illness caught on the battlefield, his then-lover bargaining for his life with a hooded figure that he, in his delirium, thought was a god. The stranger had bade him to drink from a cup of thick, dark wine unmixed with water. After the first sip, Kreios understood that it was blood.

“Drink, and live forever, Kreios,” said the stranger, reaching out and caressing Kreios’ cheek. He did drink, more and desperately, until he shuddered and vomited across the stranger’s lap. 

In the long years and centuries that followed, Kreios had never learned the identity of his creator. When he awoke from his long slumber, he found himself wrapped in a shroud, on a pyre that had not yet been lit. When he stumbled back to his lover’s tent, he found the prince slain, his body drained dry. It was then Kreios understood then what bargain had been struck for his survival. 

The long centuries that followed was wearisome and lonely. Kreios could never stay in place for long -- too often, his strangeness would be remarked upon and the sad tendency of all around him to die, drained of their blood -- was also invariably noticed. 

The only place Kreios could find for himself was on the battlefield. A common soldier’s lot was good enough for him -- he could see the world, and never was he deprived of nourishment. Though the daylight weakened him, he was able hide it well. He didn’t care about what powers moved armies from one day to the next, and was content to be a pebble that was carried along with them. 

But, it was true, the centuries of death and war would derange the most steady and reasonable mind -- which Kreios did not, in fact, possess. He was ready to end it all, but he could not do it. Nothing seemed to hurt him, nothing would let him die.

It was then he heard of Lycurgus and learned that were other strange people in the world, with afflictions like and unlike his own. Kreios had met some others who were much like him -- unaging and beautiful corpses, content to feed on blood, like the hetaira who held court for fifty years in Athens and had no rival besides the light of the sun -- but no one such as Lycurgus. 

As a young man, he had marched off from Rome to serve some time in on the edges of far flung Britain, for his family, though of good stock and some wealth, had always had implacable enemies -- anyway, it was not his fate to receive a good assignment. But young Marcus Caelius had not died as his enemies had expected him to, but rather, had thrived in that unwholesome place. Eventually, he became a commander of the Frontier Scouts, called Wolves for the wolf-pelts they wore over helmets - But camp gossip had that it was not the only reason they were called thus… 

It was also there that he earned the name Lycurgus, which was the name that all knew him by -- and he had earned it well. 

Kreios was not a man given much to shyness. When he had heard the rumors of a Roman officer who had come back from the wild with the ability to change into a wolf in the moonlight, he had laughed at the impossibility along with the rest. But he had marked it and he was determined to make Lycurgus’ acquaintance. 

He did not do as Cleopatra had and roll himself in a carpet and let himself be presented to Julius Caesar. No, instead Kreios found out the identity of Lycurgus’ most hated enemy and killed him, and then bribed his way into his tent one evening with a special prize. 

“Hail, Lycurgus of the Wolves! I have long wished to make your acquaintance,” said Kreios as soon as Lycurgus entered the tent. Kreios was seated on what he expected was Lycurgus’ most comfortable chair, with a cloak thrown over him. 

“Who has let a mad boy into my tent?” Lycurgus asked curtly, stepping back a little. He was a man of square, regular features and dark hair, graying at the temples. There was a great hatchet mark in between his eyes -- he was not a man predisposed to smiling. 

“When I asked who was the great Lycurgus’ greatest enemy, how surprised I was to learn he was not some savage British chief or an implacable patrician, but rather some whimpering old man who begged me not to kill him. Ah, well! Say hello to your Uncle Quintus, at least, before you summon the guards.” Kreios lifted his cloak to show off the head of Quintus Caelius -- whose cognomen he had not bothered to learn. 

“Stay back,” Lycurgus said to his guards and entered the tent. Kreios smiled and threw the head on the floor, where it rolled awkwardly under a table, its mouth still agape in a silent scream. Lycurgus approached him carefully, asking all the appropriate questions -- _Who are you? Who sent you? What did you do with my poor old Uncle Quintus?_

“Are you sorry for him? Was I wrong to believe the stories of your bloodthirstiness?” Kreios felt real despair at this. He had had such high hopes for Lycurgus -- how could all those stories lead to such a disappointment? 

“Monster or no, he was still a Roman citizen, whose heads cannot be chopped off on a whim,” said Lycurgus, his eyes on the head. He had a deep, pleasing voice, used to issuing commands. When Kreios shifted in his seat, he had the feeling that with one false movement, Lycurgus would be upon him. 

So Kreios spoke truthfully instead, saying, “It was not a whim that moved me, but rather a sincere hope to please you. As for whether he was a monster or not, I care not. You hated him and now he is dead.” 

“Why do you wish to please me?” 

Kreios leaned forward, his eyes gleaming in unhallowed light. “I want to see a man turn into a wolf.” 

Later, Kreios admitted that he had not handled his first meeting with Lycurgus well. If not for his own supernatural strength, it was doubtful that he would have survived the encounter intact. As it was, Lycurgus did try to tear out his throat, and nearly succeeded, though he did it as a man. 

“What kind of thing are you?” Lycurgus asked after some attempts at killing Kreios had not succeeded. They were both sprawled on the ground, on top of each other. Kreios spat out some blood on the ground and grinned down at Lycurgus. 

“I am like you -- well, not like you, but a thing like you. Unnatural and cursed. When I heard what you could do, I had to see for myself.” He paused and looked up, cocking his head in puzzlement. “Why do your guards not come? I’m sure we have made enough noise to rouse them.” 

“Oh,” Lycurgus said, waving his hand dismissively. “Perhaps they think I’m fucking you to death.” 

“Interesting, though I cannot die,” Kreios reminded him. “But I am not opposed to you fucking me.” 

“No, I am not opposed to it either,” Lycurgus said, sitting up so that Kreios slid into his lap, his arms looping around Lycurgus’ neck. They fit very well together, Kreios was pleased to note. “But tell me more of how you cannot die. Have you tested this thoroughly?” 

“You can try again,” Kreios said smugly. “If you wish to fail again.” 

“Not when you expect it.” 

“Do you think your wolf-form could kill me?” Kreios could not resist letting his excitement show. “I would love it if you would try.” 

“You would have to wait for fifteen more days to see it,” Lycurgus said. He seemed an eminently practical man, for all that he was participating in an absurd situation such as this. 

“I am willing to wait,” Kreios told him earnestly. “When you have been alive for as long as I have, you will know unbearably long life can be. If you kill me then, I will do anything for you now.” 

“Anything?” Lycurgus said. His eyes were sharp and assessing. When Kreios leaned against him, to show him the strength of his sincerity, he knew Lycurgus was sensible to it. “That is a dangerous promise.” 

Kreios shrugged. “Do you accept it?” 

“I would be a fool not to,” Lycurgus said. “Anything, then.” 

Kreios smiled. And this time, he showed all his teeth. 

*

Finally, the trail of gore and blood ended and Kreios could see the camp ahead of him. He was spotted easily enough, with Lycurgus’ personal seal on him, able to come through easily enough. He found his lover in a state of some irritation, giving dictation to a harried-looking scribe. 

“You are late,” Lycurgus snapped. “I was expecting you three days ago.” 

“The way back was treacherous,” Kreios pointed out. “Do you often commit atrocities so close to the full moon?” 

“They defied me and would not take any of the opportunities I gave them to retreat,” Lycurgus said. “Their deaths are on their own heads.” 

Kreios made a noise that could be thought of as an assent. He reached out and touched the fringe of Lycurgus’ hair. “Your hair is longer now. And are your eyes more green?” 

“It is few hours until the moon rises,” Lycurgus told him, ignoring Kreios’ attempts at flirtation. “Everything changes -- then.” 

“You have not yet told me how it was that you became a wolf in the first place,” Kreios said, kneeling at Lycurgus’ feet. He preened a little when Lycurgus put an absent hand on his head, in full view of the other soldiers. It was well that everyone should know now who belonged to who. 

Lycurgus sent the scribe and the others out. Only Kreios remained. The story was one that he knew -- or at least, he could already guess at. In order to win the Frontier Scouts’ approval, a new commander was obligated to hunt a wolf beyond the Wall and bring back its pelt. Lycurgus had obligingly gone hunting, but that night, under the sickly light of the swollen moon, he found himself face to face with a wolf that was not a wolf. 

“I knew I would have to kill that wolf, even if it was the last thing I did,” Lycurgus said. His large, blunt fingers, still caressing Kreios’ fine-grained skin, seemed to grow larger, the nails sharper. Kreios leaned closer against him with a mutter of approval. 

The battle lasted the whole night, until, finally, a silver charm that Lycurgus’ mother had tucked into her son’s pack long ago slipped out onto the ground. Without thinking much of it, Lycurgus took the charm and jammed into the creature’s eye and then followed it with a final spear thrust. When the wolf stopped moving, he pulled the charm out and was surprised to see -- even in the poor, pre-dawn light that it was not dedicated to Mars, as he had always thought, but rather Diana. What a curious choice his mother had made, and yet, it had been what saved him. 

When Lycurgus looked back, wondering how he should bring back his splendid prize to the fort, he realized that hulking shape of the dead wolf had changed into that of a man, and one, moreover, that he recognized -- his second-in-command. 

“Then I sickened greatly from the wound my envious lieutenant gave me, and when I was well again, I had to hunt yet another wolf. At the end of my trials, I was thoroughly sick of my lot in life. But I was to discover that fully half of the men under my command were in the same position as I was -- in the light of the full moon, it was quite a task to restrain them from tearing into each other.” 

Lycurgus paused. “I do not think true wolves act this way. Only human viciousness coupled with dreadful strength would lead to that. We are creatures of magic, not reason.” 

“Yes,” Kreios agreed. “Do you not worry about the rest of your men? Are they scattered throughout the Empire, or did they follow you out of Britain?” 

“Most of them are dead,” Lycurgus said with a wry but sad smile. “Some still follow me, and only a few are scattered to the winds.” 

“Have you … made more such as yourself?” 

“Not that I can remember. What about you?” 

Kreios was silent for a time. Then he put a finger to his mouth and smiled. “No,” he said, “not yet.” 

*

The moonlight colored the hills around them shades of dark greens and blacks and the cypresses whispered secrets amongst themselves. Kreios ran along the hills, nude, with an exhilarating feeling of freedom. He was being pursued and though he wished to be caught, he still ran. When he felt the tip of Lycurgus’ claws touch the sensitive skin of his back, he cried out in ecstatic delight. 

Even so -- 

Lycurgus made an absurdly huge and terrifying creature and he brought down Kreios easily enough. His breath was hot and wet against Kreios’ face, and his strong tongue licked the sweat from his face. Kreios pulled his arms free and wrapped them around around Lycurgus’ head. 

“Eat me first? Or fuck me first?” Kreios said teasingly, trying to ignore the rising panic he felt, looking into Lycurgus’ blazing golden eyes. There was nothing remotely human or comprehending in them. But then Lycurgus flashed his teeth -- sharper than any knife -- and Kreios knew it was no longer up to him. 

He found himself being flipped over, with his legs pressed against chest. Lycurgus’ tongue was inside him first, pushing, flexing and licking inside him. A wolf did not need much preparation, it seemed, for Lycurgus’ cock was as hard as a spear against Kreios’ entrance, and thrust inside him. 

And though he wanted it and desired it, Kreios still screamed. And that was when he looked up and saw the pale faces of some doomed scouting party -- not their lot, who knew to keep far away. 

Scrambling out quickly before he was stuck by Lycurgus’ knot, Kreios gripped as much of Lycurgus’ fur and swung himself on to his lover’s back. They darted off towards the party, running them down easily. The night ended in an orgy of blood -- as it always should. 

*

When Kreios woke to the sun burning his skin, he groaned first and realized second that Lycurgus had played him false -- he remained uneaten. He got up and looked for Lycurgus. He found him asleep nearby, looking as innocent as a child -- or as innocent as someone could look, sleeping surrounded by dismembered corpses. 

He woke immediately when Kreios fell upon him and did not struggle even when he was pinned down by the throat. 

“You said you would kill and eat me,” Kreios spat out. “ _Liar_.” 

Lycurgus looked back at him calmly and when Kreios stopped trying to throttle him, he spoke. “I will not kill you or eat you. See how you have healed from all those bites and scratches already -- it would do no good.” 

“Oh, you didn’t do it because it was _inefficient_ ,” Kteios said, sneering. 

“No, you stupid man, it’s not that.” 

“What is it, then?” 

Lycurgus kissed him. It was foul, of course. Kreios grabbed his hair and kissed him back. Then he bit him deeply and sucked the hot blood that filled his mouth. It tasted wild and wolfish, and intoxicating. When he had taken one swallow, he went back for another. And then with Lycurgus goading him all the way, Kreios fucked him in the blood and gore of those unfortunate enough to oppose them -- or merely stray in their path.

*

Later, as they were washing off the blood in a stream, Lycurgus said, “Will you help me become emperor?” 

Kreios, who kept to the shade, as he watched the sunlight skim off Lycurgus’ body admiringly, laughed aloud. “I thought you were opposed to dying?” 

“Not for a cause,” Lycurgus said with an arrogant jerk of his head. “Not for this.” 

“Your cause is dishonorable and sickening,” Kreios said. “Yes, I’ll do it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, S! Title taken from the poem of the same name, by Anne Young.
> 
> I would apologize to Rosemary Sutcliff for stealing away the Frontier Scouts and making them werewolves, but it was all right there for me...


End file.
